The Scorpion and the Wolf
by malfoyforever
Summary: The Malfoy family: Twisted to the core. Post-DH: A tale of love, friendship, redemption, and traditions, among other things. Lucius, Narcissa, Draco, Astoria, Megara. And, lastly, Scorpius: the imperfect heir who might just be a Sirius Black reincarnate.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

Harry made his way through the gate, his green eyes scanning the beautiful fountain, the strutting peacocks, and the elegant manor resting ahead. He couldn't overcome the feeling of dread, of apprehension, of déjà vu as he forced himself to continue walking toward the cold mausoleum that had nearly cost his, Ron's, Luna's, Ollivander's, Hermione's, and others' lives; the one that had ridden Dobby, Charity Burbage, and countless others'. He told himself that it was for the sake of duty, for his godforsaken _job_.

He knocked on the door, swallowing. It swung open, as if of its own accord, but Harry caught sight of a house-elf tottering towards him, wearing a dirty pillowcase. His throat tightened slightly; the image of Dobby, pre-liberation, swam into his vision – history _did _tend to repeat itself, did it not? However, this elf had gigantic brown eyes, rather like Winky's, instead of green, and quite droopy, bat-like ears. She bowed, though it looked disrespectful to Harry.

"Hello, you is Mister Harry Potter, Batty is right?" she said in a high squeak. Without waiting for a reply, the tiny creature continued. "Batty is honoured Mister Potter, honoured, to welcomes you in Malfoy Manor, sir! Batty will take your coat, yes?"

"Er – yes," Harry had never quite gotten the hang of how to converse with house-elves, and he always felt too polite to give orders to the old Kreacher at their home. "Here." He craned his neck, ignoring the titters from the portraits, the scornful looks some gave him, and his harried reflection in the gilded mirrors as Batty led him Merlin-knows-where. "Where are Draco and Lucius, Batty? I need to interrogate them. Annual interrogations, you know."

She nodded sagely. "Master is in his suite with Miss Cissy. Master Draco is out, he say that he are coming to the Ministry next week."

Harry massed his neck. "Tell him that we'll meet in his study – Lucius, I mean."

Batty bowed at him. "Very good, very good, Harry Potter, if that is what you is wishing." She turned. Harry was about to follow, but then he saw her cup her hands and shout, "_Fifi_! Harry Potter are here, I wants you to gives him some food when I will go find Master, hokay?"

Another house-elf, Fifi, walked over immediately. She tugged at Harry's hand, and he felt the coolness of her rough skin. "Follow Fifi, we is coming to the kitchens, Harry Potter." She nodded respectively at Batty, who set off, going up the grand staircase in front of them. Harry was quite puzzled when he realised that house-elves (well, those of Malfoy Manor, anyways) had their own hierarchy. Smiling ever so slightly at what Hermione would say about his stupidity, he followed Fifi into the kitchens.

They were a very animated spot, with about twenty or so house-elves working over the dinners of the current residents of Malfoy Manor, chatting loudly all the time. He distinctly heard the sounds of dishes being washed and wiped, elves yelling orders, and water whooshing. A few delicious fumes floated up his nose and he had to admit that the Malfoys' cuisine had some taste.

Fifi led him to a spare table, where he assured her that yes, a glass of Butterbeer and a chocolate chip biscuit would be enough. Harry felt that he needed something, anything to calm himself. No, he wasn't nervous about interrogating Lucius, he was more... disgusted. Yes, disgusted, and maybe a tad pitying.

Lucius's elf returned shortly (Harry assumed Batty was Lucius's elf) and beckoned for him to come. She held his hand. A moment later, they reappeared in a dark corridor. Batty snapped her fingers and the lights flickered on, faintly.

"Master is inside," Batty nodded. "Good day, sir, good day."

"Thank you," Harry said, gracing her with a smile. "Good day, yourself, now."

She bowed and waved, and then Disapparated with a crack.

Harry took a breath and knocked.

"Come in," said a lazy drawl.

He obeyed, turned the silver knob; Malfoy's office came into view. It was grand, to say the least, with an empty portrait hanging near a bookshelf that contained many dusty old tomes. Papers were strewn haphazardly about the hand-carved desk; Lucius himself stood at the end of the study, his fingers on the glass.

"Potter, is it?" Malfoy turned and faced him before pulling out his black leather chair and sitting down.

"Yes, Lucius," Harry said evenly.

He couldn't help but feel revulsion as he gazed at Lucius Malfoy's scarred face, a mess of red, pink, and white. Harry figured that a charm stopped his eyes from reaching where Lucius's eyes should have been. Ron often asked him if he felt regret at saving the elder Malfoy's life. Harry couldn't say that he did. After all, Malfoy had served his time in Azkaban, and Harry wasn't about to let an (innocent?) bystander die of a werewolf attack when he was on Auror duty. The rebellion had been terrible, and every life lost, whether Dark or Light, was a heavy burden.

"It's rude to not announce yourself to a blind man," Malfoy drawled in that hoarse voice of his, touching, maybe unconsciously, his mutilated face with slender fingers while regarding him with a raised eyebrow. He waved his other hand dismissively. "You can begin your questioning, you know, Potter."

Harry sighed. He found it most bothersome to interrogate the former Death Eaters in their own residences, as opposed to his office. It might have been a bit silly of his friend's part, but once Ron had said that being behind that desk at the Auror office at the Ministry gave him an impression of great power. Harry couldn't agree more. Even incapacitated, years after the war, Lucius Malfoy _still_ gave an aura of power, and Harry didn't like it. He suddenly felt as if he were twelve years old again, during that hot summer's day in Diagon Alley.

"I'm the Head of the Auror Department at the Ministry of Magic, Mr Malfoy," he said firmly.

"_Most_ admirable," Malfoy observed. He contented himself with sneering, having sensed that it would not have been rather imprudent to continue his taunting, so Malfoy sat back, waiting for Harry to continue.

Harry shook his head. This was _Lucius Malfoy_, he told himself with an internal groan. There was no use reasoning with the former Death Eater, and he decided to just take out his notepad and begin his questioning.

"Name?"

"I had thought you would know," Malfoy remarked dryly. "Lucius Abraxas Malfoy, Potter."

"Birth date?"

"1st November 1954."

"Birthplace?"

"Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire, England."

"Parents?"

"Abraxas Malfoy and Anastasia Malfoy, nee Daku."

"Schooling?"

"Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Slytherin House."

"Current occupation?"

"Apparently none."

"Please lend me your wand for a moment, Lucius," Harry said. Malfoy tossed it to him wordlessly and he picked it up, feeling over the Runes-like carvings and symbols, and then turned back to the questioned. "Wand information?"

"Elm, 12 and ¾ inches, rigid and Veela hair core," he recited in a monotone, looking bored. "I have used it since I had been released from Azkaban... since 2001. Is that enough information for you, Potter?"

Harry made no reply; his heavily used quill was scratching the parchment rather loudly as it noted the information Malfoy had given.

"You can have your wand back, Mr Malfoy. Residence?"

"Malfoy Manor," Malfoy paused, and then, not able to resist the urge, added, "You are in the Manor at the moment, Potter, in case you hadn't noticed."

"I had," Harry commented flatly, not falling for the bait. "Very well."

"Finished?"

"Not yet. Have you travelled anywhere?"

"In my state, _no_, Potter, unless you count the manor's gardens," Malfoy said softly, tilting his head. "Finished _now_?"

"Nearly," Harry sighed. "Have you had any contact with any other former Death Eaters recently?"

"My son. Other than that, no."

"I'm finished," the younger man got up. "Until next, Mr Malfoy."

"_Goodbye_, Potter."

Malfoy shut the door behind him rather loudly and Harry could still hear him pacing. Wiping his hands on his trousers, not a house elf in view, Harry decided to go on downstairs. He spied two blond heads at the bench near the grand staircase; a girl was reading a novel to her younger brother.

_Malfoy spawn_, he thought, watching them for a moment, standing quite still and rigid. The girl noticed his stare and glowered; her steely grey eyes bore into his bright green and her strawberry blonde curls seemed to want to jump at him. The boy seemed confused, but stared at him unblinkingly, his pale golden hair shining in the scarce hallway light.

Harry gave an awkward half-wave, and then found his way to the door, finally out of sight of the children, and ran to the gate to Disapparate.

Oh, sometimes he _really_ hated his job.

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><p><strong>Yep. This is sort of different from what I usually do. <strong>

**I've had this in my head for a good bit of time, and I figured I'd try. This is compliant with _The Penetrator of Darkness: Year One_. It will focuse on the Lucius/Scorpius relationship, mostly, and I'll put in some Lucius/Narcissa, with Teddy, Andromeda, Draco and Astoria, additionally. **

**Lucius will seem slightly OOC at times - but bear in mind that he's been mauled, blinded by a former ally - Greyback - and this is him after the war. Now, some of this will show him in a negative light, some in a positive one; I'm not trying to prove that he was bad, or that he was good either - I think of him as in between, actially. **

**This will shift from POVs - Scorpius, Lucius, Narcissa, Megara (OC older sister to Scorp), and others'. **

**The idea that Harry interview the remaining Death Eaters comes from _Questions and Answers _- credit for that goes to little0bird. **

**Finally, the prologue takes place in 2010, and the final chapter will be right before Scorpius leaves for Hogwarts. **

**So... End of extremely long author's note... Please read and review, especially if you favourited/alerted! **


	2. Outcast

**Outcast **

Megara stared off into space for a long time after the strange man left. She knew who he was, of course; there was not a wizard-raised child in Britain who did not know his name. Harry James Potter was the saviour of the British wizarding world, the defeater of the Dark Lord – even her family gave credit to him for vanquishing the Dark Lord. Her family, the Malfoys; one of the most prominent pureblood families, and one of the only left – not that anyone would care about her ancestry, except to be repulsed by it.

No, Megara Amaryllis Malfoy did not have much about her ancestry to brag of – daughter of Draco Lucius Malfoy and Pansy Ivy Parkinson, born of wedlock, a child conceived by passion – her mother having left her father shortly after birth, her father bringing her from her birthplace, a village in Greece for which she was named for, to the Wiltshire manor named Malfoy Manor – her blood was as pure as anything, but her family name was sullied, her bloodline resented, and her family tree twisted, _very_ twisted.

Not only was she a bastard child, she thought, scowling, but also an outcast in her own house. Father, of course, spoilt her silly; not silly enough like his father had done to him, but silly enough for Megara to act like a little princess rather often. Astoria – Megara never called her anything – always sent her cross looks, as if it were _her_ fault that Father had loved another woman before her, enough to have a child with. Not only that, but she also spoke to her in cold tones, indifferently, and to be frank, _detested_ her, really.

Scorpius, he was fine. A five-year old ball of annoyance, but Megara thought, privately, that he was fun to be with, at times. She had to tread carefully with her brother, as Astoria tended to be overprotective and overreacting with her only son – the Healer had told the couple that they could not have any more children after Scorpius, but the Malfoys had their heir.

Her grandparents, they knew what it was like, but they couldn't truly understand, how it was to be an eleven year-old girl growing up lonely in a dark manor, having to stand alone against a hateful stepmother, and bearing the heavy burden that was their family name. They couldn't understand how fearful she was underneath – she convinced herself that she was a strong, proud, indifferent Malfoy – to be at school with many others' whose parents had fought against her grandparents and father.

"Megara?" called a soft voice, interrupting her reverie. "Can you continue reading this chapter?"

"No, not now," she snapped, ignoring the disappointed look on his already-handsome face. Malfoys had to learn to deal with disappointment, she told herself. If Scorpius was sad over his sister not reading to him when he wanted to and snapping at him, he would melt like a caramel out in the sun in the outside world. Here, at the Manor, they were safe – but there were many, many people who wanted the Malfoys dead out there. Getting up, she continued, "I'll be in my bedroom, baby brother. I need some _space_."

Scorpius frowned and walked away, glancing at her over his shoulder. "Goodbye, then."

Watching him stretch and take the book with him as he left to find his mother, she climbed the stairs two by two, and listened at the door of her grandparents' suite. She wanted to speak to them about Potter, maybe laugh about him for a while – this would certainly lessen her fears. However, Megara could hear her grandfather pacing inside, slurring, and Grandmother attempting to reason with him. Deciding it would not be wise to interrupt (Lucius could be quite scary in his anger at times), she made her way to her suite.

Her bedroom was a well-decorated room, with a large canopy bed with the standard silver Malfoy sheets – the quilt was currently pale pink, although its colour would change once she was Sorted. There were bookcases, the books carefully organised by the library elves. Her cat, Vega, purred in her sleep, curled up on Megara's pillow. Her toy box sat at the foot of her bed. From the sewn cushions near the window, one had a gracious view of the elegant gardens of Malfoy Manor. There were two doors at the sides: one led to her bathroom and the other to her study.

Climbing onto her bed, she picked a Muggle paperback from the shelf, one she found most boring – _Twilight_ – about a teenage romance. It was however a good read when you wanted to forget your worries, be it even for a short while – Megara contented herself with flipping directly to Edward's speech about resisting Bella's blood, sighing. If only life was as simple as a vampire falling for a human girl and the only problem being the sweetness of the girl's blood...

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><p>The dinner bell tolled at exactly seven that evening, resounding in the manor. Megara yawned, stretched; she knew from experience that the house-elf would barge in quite rudely if she didn't come downstairs within the next five minutes. With a sigh, she ran her fingers through her messy hair, hoping that it would make her look at least presentable. <em>Malfoys<em> were pureblood, and so purebred; her grandfather had begun teaching her the proper etiquette when she was five, and expected her to respect it at all times. She was ashamed to say that sometimes she defied it – like reading Muggle novels that Lupin had gotten her when he had last visited. She peered at her reflection in her gold-framed mirror and decided that she would try harder, next time.

One of the kitchen elves, a lower elf, Johnny, was setting the table. He bowed when he saw her – Father was nowhere in sight. Astoria was reprimanding Scorpius gently... Something about the Malfoy manner. Megara and her eyes locked; the girl knew that the woman blamed her for the "bad influence"; that was always what her stepmother did. She glared for a second, and then turned away and pulled out a chair.

It was ten minutes later when Father arrived, still dressed in his work clothes; his hair would have been messy if it hadn't been slicked back with gel that only wore off at a spell. He took his seat facing Astoria – she supposed that Granddad was still technically the head of the family – and sighed.

"Long day, honey?" Astoria asked, her voice in the honey-like tone she would adopt with Father. Megara fumed, her face a blank slate; how different it would be if her mother had decided to marry Father! She wouldn't be a bastard child, and Astoria would be with some other pureblood, a _loser_; Megara could be treated as not an outcast from the proud, pureblood society, but as a princess; she listened to Father's answer.

He nodded wearily. "Yes. That Percy Weasley, he came to my office. For some reason, he thinks I measure cauldron bottoms' thickness! Despicable, I tell you. And then, there was the affair of Walden Macnair's trial. He pleaded not guilty, remember?"

Something in her father's face told Megara that she shouldn't be asking him questions about this subject; however, she was naturally curious. The name seemed familiar. She said, softly, "Who is Walden Macnair, Father?"

Immediately, his face darkened. Astoria didn't miss this; she sent Megara a cold look. Father, however, answered. "Walden Macnair was a Death Eater. He broke out during the rebellion of 2006. He had been found in June, and after his trial, when he'd been staying in secure quarters at the Ministry, he committed suicide."

"Suicide?"

"Apparently," Father sighed again.

"You should go upstairs," Astoria looked at her.

"Why?" Megara snapped.

"It seems some important notions of the book of etiquette had escaped you."

She spoke gently, as if Megara had been her own child, as if she really wanted to help her instead of punishing her, in that tone she got. That tone, it was such the tone that Granddad took when he wanted to help her, but he secretly thought that she was stupid. It was a carefully calculated tone; one only a Slytherin could have mastered.

Father looked at the glare on his daughter's face, and the mask on his wife's, and decided to compromise. "You're right, Astoria," he said smoothly, to Megara's great horror. Turning to Megara, who didn't dare to glare at him, he continued, "You'll finish supper and then re-read a bit. I'll test you tonight at eight, all right? Come to my office, child."

She ducked her head and nodded. "Yes, Father."

Megara quickly finished, excused herself, and raced upstairs. Grandmother intercepted her, her face confused as she asked her why Megara wasn't at dinner. The girl scowled. "I'm sorry, Grandmother, but I don't want to talk about it."

Oh, how she wanted to have a friend her age! A friend would understand. But she had no real friends, except for maybe Kira Zabini, but Kira only came over at Christmas and New Year's Eve. If she had a friend, she could confide in her, play with her, laugh about Astoria with her...

She ran to her bedroom, and closed the door. She made a beeline for the bed, tossed _Twilight_ onto the floor, and buried her face in the pillow. _No one_ loved her! _No one_ wanted her! Even her own father sent her to her room to revise her etiquette because of stupid Astoria! She _hated_ her!

Megara threw the pillow onto the floor, swallowed a sob, and kicked her nightstand. Her books and precious clock fell off; she couldn't stop the sense of satisfaction as she regarded the mess on the floor, caused by her, the smashed glass of the clock. Someday, they would be _sorry_! Sorry that they had mistreated her! Someday, she would be rich and famous and no could bother her, ever again!

"Girl?" called the slightly sour voice of her grandmother, who was knocking at the door, it seemed. "Stop this tantrum this instant. It is improper for a young lady such as yourself."

At the closed door, Megara shouted, "I don't _care_!"

She cried for real this time, until her eyes were red and her throat raw from sobbing; she had forgotten about meeting Father in his office. She was angrier after crying, because nobody had even _bothered_ to come in and console her. She had the impression that she wasn't worth it. If _darling_ Scorpius had cried, everyone would have begged for his forgiveness. _Not_ her. He was a prince, but she was as worthy as a beggar in her own home.

She was _just_ a bastard child, after all. She was just a smudge on the family tree.

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><p>Draco's grey eyes took in the mess. He was quite surprised at how dramatic she had become, but according to some people, the real drama hadn't yet to begin. Megara was eleven years old, now. She was going to Hogwarts, and soon she would be a <em>real<em> teenager. Frightening.

He was slightly worried; she did have her mother's genes. If Pansy's adolescence had begun such as this, a child's tantrum, Draco would be damned.

With a wave of his wand and a sigh, the room cleaned itself up. He swept towards his daughter; Astoria had long since fallen asleep after telling another fairytale to Scorpius. He had to admit that some of the things that Megara had shouted during her tantrum were true; he _was_ an unfit father. What kind of father listened to his wife, who he knew was intent to make his child's life miserable? A fit father would have defended his child.

Instead, he had gone to Astoria's side. No wonder Megara was angry at him.

Perhaps he had done so to forget her. Pansy. There were moments when he could see so much Pansy in Megara – her charm, the way her eyes sometimes glinted, the way she formed her words – he couldn't help himself. Sometimes, he imagined that he was a normal Malfoy. A good businessman, with a beautiful wife and an heir.

And again, he would _never_ be a normal Malfoy. He unknowingly rubbed the spot where his Dark Mark was – or what remained of it, at least; it was shrunken and grey and ugly – and then looked towards Megara. There were still tear tracks on her face. Her blonde curls framed her face, beautiful to him.

He stroked it, her cheek, with his hand. Kissing her forehead, he left with the thought that he had made too many mistakes to be allowed.

_Yes, he couldn't even raise a child adequately. _

Like presently, Draco sometimes thought he was a failure.

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><p><strong>I actually <em>enjoyed<em> writing about Megara's tantrum; weird, I know :P **

**So, how do we like Draco? Megara? Astoria? Scorpius? Lucius? Harry? Narcissa? **

**Next chapter, we see what a full moon is like for Lucius and Narcissa - because he was contaminated when he had been bitten. After that, we'll have Scorpius, wondering about things. **

**Please read and review, especially if you favourited/alerted! **


	3. Full Moon

**Thanks to Lovisa and The QAS for reviewing! Those reviews make me a very happy person... :) **

**And sorry for the long lapse between chapters :P I can't promise anything for quick updating, but I do have a good part of the next chapter written :) Hope you enjoy this chapter, even if it is a bit short! **

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><p><strong>Full Moon <strong>

Before the werewolf, Fenrir Greyback, had mauled her husband, Narcissa Malfoy had always enjoyed the sight of the full moon.

She had always thought that it was such a pretty side – all round and white and beautiful, positively glowing in the darkened night sky. The greyish ridges, imperfect as they might be, only added to the full moon's charm; when the sun came up again, Narcissa had always been sad to see the full moon go.

Nowadays, though, she felt that she could cut the full moon to slices, if that was all it was worth.

Contrarily to what people thought, she did love her husband, in spite of what he had done. He was only ever doing his best, after all... Like the rest of them. Lucius was a man, too – in spite of what the other side thought. Still, Narcissa shouldn't judge; if Potter had not been there, Lucius would not be alive...

_Alive_. The word jumped at her, unnerved her. For not the first time, she wondered what it meant, to be alive. Was it worth it, when Lucius being alive only meant that he would continue to suffer at every full moon and the week preceding it for the rest of his life?

Yes, it was, Narcissa thought stubbornly, scowling. But she might be a bit biased – because if Lucius was alive, she would still have him at her side. She would still have him beside her at night, whenever she woke up, sweating and panting, from yet another nightmare from the war.

Narcissa Malfoy's reasons for keeping her husband alive were selfish, yes – but what advantages did staying alive give Lucius?

She didn't know the answer. And she didn't want to know, either.

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><p>Lucius curled up at the foot of his king bed, his arm groping for a pillow, preferably to subside the pounding at the side of his head. He grimaced, sniffing the soft material he came up with, and then felt it with the hand that wasn't curled in a fist.<p>

_Yes_. It was a pillow, all right – and it smelled like Narcissa's. Oh well, Lucius thought, holding the pillow over his face. He was exhausted as hell, in _horrid_ pain; no wonder he was in a bad mood. Perhaps it was the fact that it was the new moon, and it was his body that was reacting.

"Damn moon," he muttered darkly, twisting his mouth. "Stupid-"

Lucius shut up when he heard footsteps in the hallway, throwing away the pillow. Yes, he had been reduced to this, a pathetic old man – but he was not going to sink down to showing weakness, as he had already done a few times before. A Malfoy was strong and proud; and old habit pushed him to square his tense shoulders and sit up. He had learned the hard way to never show weakness at the age of eighteen, when he had enlisted in the Dark Lord's ranks. Weakness had then meant a quasi death sentence.

_Did weakness mean that now, too?_

"Lucius?" murmured his wife's voice, and he heard her walk closer, closing the door. "_Muffliato_."

"I'm okay," he replied, licking his dry lips. He made room for her as she sat down beside him. "What time is it?"

They both knew what he really meant: _How __far __am __I __from __the __full __moon?_ Narcissa bit her lip and glanced over at the grandfather clock in the corner. "It's six-thirty," she answered. "There're two hours until the you know-"

"The full moon, Narcissa," Lucius growled. He was in no mood for this. "You can say it. I won't kill you for it."

She crossed her arms, glaring at him. "You bastard," she muttered. "_Fine_."

Sensing that there was no adequate reply to this, Lucius went back to trying his best to ignore his migraine. Distinctly, he heard Narcissa pick a book from the bedside and begin reading it, judging from the shuffle of the pages and the smell of the aged book.

Another reason that he hated the full moon: normally, people at least tried. But on the full moon, everyone showed their true faces.

It was no surprise which face Lucius preferred.

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><p>By eight o'clock, her husband didn't even try to suppress the shaking of his shoulders.<p>

Narcissa knew this was her cue. She held the book with one hand, and bent down near the curled-up form of Lucius. "I hope you're okay," she murmured to him, unsure if he was even registering what she was saying. She kissed his cheek, rough and the scars well visible even by feel, after all this time. "I'll see you tomorrow morning."

He surprised her. "I will be," he replied, more muttering than anything. "Go now, Narcissa."

Narcissa knew his tactics. Lucius had always been secretive and unwilling to show weakness or pain; if his looks had changed drastically since the mauling, his mentality definitely hadn't.

She hesitated, as she always did when he asked this of her.

Pureblood tradition dictated that a wife go forth with her husband's wishes, she knew.

Ethically, though, it was right for her to stay and help him.

Perhaps it was because she was traditional, or because she had already said goodnight to him and it would be illogical for her to turn back on her words – Narcissa looked back at her husband one more time, and then slipped her feet into her slippers and made her way to the parlour, where the sofa was waiting for her.

It was going to be a long night, the coward that was Narcissa Malfoy knew.

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><p><strong>Next up: We learn more about Astoria's past. We also hear an interesting story that Astoria tells Scorpius the same night as this chapter. <strong>

**After that: Scorpius makes an interesting meeting in the kitchens of Malfoy Manor. **

**Please read and review, especially if you favourited/alerted! :)**


	4. The Story of the Beast

**a/n: I know it's been officially THREE months since I've updated (I know, crazy :P), but I am not abandoning this story, don't worry, I love the Malfoys too much :D RL's just been crazy, and I actually wrote this in December, but couldn't find the time to post it afterwards :/ **

**To the reviewers: **

**revengerufus: Thank you! I hope you like this chapter :D **

**lowi: Thanks! :D I hope you find this insight into Astoria's mind interesting :D **

**Emily Mae: Thanks for your reviews! I don't think Narcissa is a coward either - in fact, she's probably braver than both Draco and Lucius put together :/ That was just her second-guessing herself :/ Anyways, I hope you enjoy this chapter! **

**And without further delay, here's Astoria's story - as well as a bedtime tale she tells Scorpius :D **

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><p><strong>The Story of the Beast <strong>

Once upon a time, in a kingdom known as Great Britain, a baby girl with snowy white skin and flowing brown hair was born.

She grew up in a well-off family of witches and wizards, a pureblood family; the middle daughter of three, she was neither the eldest, nor the youngest. Everyone fawned over her older sister, because she was so pretty and graceful and clever; everyone worried over her younger sister, because she was so clumsy and sharp-tongued and rebellious. No one seemed to care about her, the middle daughter, because she was just the obedient one, a carbon-copy of her older sister, after all.

When she turned eleven, no longer the little girl with pink ribbons she had once been, she received an acceptance letter to a prestigious boarding school in the mountains in Scotland. It wasn't a big deal, though; her elder sister had, after all, already returned from her first year at the school called Hogwarts. However, the young girl's parents did pay her more attention that night, congratulating her, joking that she'd better be in Slytherin House, or else; she liked that.

She did land in Slytherin House – but it wasn't much, really, because her sister had already been accepted there. Still, she smiled as she skipped towards the House table. She met with a few friends. An older boy with blond hair from one of the best pureblood families out there caught her eye; seeing her stare, he winked.

For the next few years, she made herself a reputation in Slytherin House. By her sixth year, she was already long-surrounded by cronies and the like. She had many acquaintances, especially in her House, and enjoyed her power. She seemed heartless and untouchable, and her only weakness was him: the blond boy.

The blond boy had grown up, too. By his final year – for he was in her older sister's year – he was no longer a boy, but a man. There had been a war in their world for quite a bout of time already; it had forced him and everyone else to grow up far too quickly. He had to take up his father's mantle, because his father had gone to jail. He had to swear allegiance to his father's allegiance, because his entire family's lives lay at stake. She, the young woman she had become, admired him for it.

In the beginning of May of that year, there was a call in the middle of the night: war had come to their school. Terrified, every one of them was rushed out of their dormitories, her included. Her Head of House would usher them to a safe haven, she was told. Many other students, the fighters, regarded her lot with spite for it. "Cowards!" they spat at her. "Filthy little You-Know-Who supporters, you Slytherins are!"

They were stupid, the girl knew, spitting back at them, very unlike the proper lady her mother had urged her to become. Didn't they know that some people were simply not fit for fighting? Didn't they know that it was not only Gryffindors whose lives were at stake, but Slytherins too? Didn't they know that it was not cowardly, but shrewd, to keep from the fighting?

And so she followed her people towards safety, lugging behind her sister, who then looked back at their school in flames and remembered with terrified precision that their other sister was there, too. The young woman's sister broke then into a run, closely followed by her friends and boyfriend. The sixth year watched her sister run, scared out of her wits, but willing to go on all the same. If both her sisters perished, at least her parents would have her as a remaining daughter.

She was wrong. Her sisters did not perish; her blond prince, who fought also, was safe. The other side had fallen, leaving the Slytherins in the dust, the victors' faces scorning at them horribly. The government of their world awarded honours to those who fought; the young woman's parents were so, so proud of their two daughters who had fought, even though they had been awarded lower honours than the children of the other Houses.

The second daughter was ignored one more time.

Her blond prince was missing for a long time after the war, perhaps at least a year and a half. Rumour was that he had escaped to the coasts of Greece with his girlfriend, the second daughter's sister's friend. When he came back, finally, the young woman had gathered the courage to visit him, until she heard the news: her blond prince had come back with a bastard child, the spawn of his ex-girlfriend, who had run off in a horrible cowardice.

So she stayed away, patching up the pieces of her broken heart.

When he was twenty-four and she, twenty-three, he bought her a drink in a shady pub the young woman's younger sister had recently acquired. "Ogden's Finest?" he inquired, peering at her with his handsome grey eyes, and her heart immediately melted for him. Perhaps he did love her! "It's my treat, Miss."

"Call me Astoria," the young woman offered with a shy smile. She held out a hand. "Astoria Greengrass."

"Daphne's younger sister?" he guessed. For once, she did not grimace. "Malfoy, Draco Malfoy."

Draco looked at her with wariness; perhaps he was afraid she would run at the mention of his surname. However, she had already loved him for much too long to do so; anyway, it was only ever so a name. Plus, it was his father who was the real evil, not him. "A pleasure, Mr – Draco."

Two months later, he proposed, and she accepted blissfully, thinking she might have gotten the happily ever after she deserved, after all this time.

She was wrong, of course. Happily-ever-afters were for girls like her sister Daphne, who never seemed to realise how lucky they were; they were not for girls like Astoria, who were bitter and cynical and so _utterly_ twisted. Daphne, who married a man who wasn't lusting after a woman who had long disappeared. Daphne, whose husband's bastard child did not live in her house, a living reminder that her husband had loved another woman before her. Daphne, who wasn't viewed as angry and spiteful and heartless by most of the living world.

Half of the time, Astoria wondered whether the Fates had something against her.

Perhaps her child, Scorpius, was her one redeeming quality. Perhaps her child, Scorpius, was the only thing that she loved without a trace of bitterness or selfishness in it. Perhaps her child, Scorpius, wouldn't grown up to be like her if Astoria kept his sister in check, so that Megara wouldn't steal too much of the limelight and make her brother long for more, always more.

Astoria was a mess, she knew. And hell, she didn't even know what she was doing most of the time.

She was only ever moving along with the twisted rhythm of this dirty world, after all.

* * *

><p>Scorpius didn't like to go to bed early. Mother told him little boys like him had to, simply had to, or else they'd fall ill with a mysterious sickness and die – which just confirmed Scorpius' thought that life as a five-year-old was horribly dull.<p>

He sat with his covers pulled up to his chest, holding his well-worn stuffed dragon. He tugged at his mother's sleeve – she seemed to be falling asleep. "Mother," he coaxed her, "I want to hear another story. You've already told me the one about the Wizard and the Hopping Pot."

Astoria sighed, smiling tiredly at her only son. She did tend to spoil the boy, yes, but tonight, she was especially tired. Scorpius and his cousin Alcmene, who was Daphne's daughter, had a play date scheduled at Theodore and Daphne's house this afternoon; she had thought it would prove to be relaxing, sitting there and drinking tea with Daphne, Theodore, and her heavily pregnant sister Mnemosyne and her husband David. How could Astoria have known that Alcmene and Scorpius would have the brilliant idea to break into Theodore's potion storerooms and concoct an explosive potion?

"It's past your bedtime, darling," she replied, ruffling his blond hair. Exactly like his father's, she thought fondly, except that Draco lacked Scorpius' hair's golden aspect. "You're going to be tired tomorrow morning. Remember, Mr Orkney will be arriving around eleven o'clock."

Scorpius grimaced. Mr Orkney was his tutor, who expected the boy to call him 'sir' at all times. Orkney smelled atrociously, was in the habit to strike Scorpius with a Stinging Hex whenever he thought his student learnt too slowly, and became angered whenever the boy couldn't understand his thick burr.

"Please, Mother," he pouted at her, giving her the puppy dog look he knew she couldn't resist. "One story." His gaze moved over to his well-worn copy of _The Tales of Beedle the Bard_. "How about 'The Warlock's Hairy Heart'?"

"Not age-appropriate, Scorpius," Astoria said firmly. She gently closed the book and motioned for Scorpius to lie down. "Why don't I tell you a story of my own making, my little scorpion? Would you like that? I will bet that you are well tired of _The Tales of Beedle the Bard_."

Slowly, Scorpius's blond head bobbed up and down. "Yes, please, Mother."

"Alright." With her wand, Astoria extinguished the lights of her son's suite. She parted the curtains and pointed to the luminous white ball that was the moon. "Do you see the full moon, Scorpius? Do you know what it means?"

"Of course," the boy scoffed. "Werewolves turn into wolves at the full moon and bite people." Scorpius paused. "And then the people who got bitten turn into werewolves at the next full moon, and bite other people." _Mother? _

Astoria nodded. "But that's not just all." Her voice quiet, she continued, "Have you ever heard of the Beast, Scorpius?"

"You mean like in the Muggle fairy tale, Mother?"

Astoria frowned – she didn't let her child near Muggle fairy tales! It was definitely Scorpius' sister, meddling again; she should drop a line to Draco for him to keep her better disciplined. "I don't know what you're talking about, darling. This Beast, you see, is a human being."

"The Beast in the Muggle fairy tale was a human, too, Mother," Scorpius piped up, "but he got turned into a big hairy monster when he was mean and had to find love to break his spell. There're dancing teacups and a pretty girl called Belle in the Disney version of _The Beauty and the Beast_..."

"Interesting," Astoria said distractedly, not hearing a word of what he had said. She stroked his hair, the details of the story unravelling in her mind. "Once upon a time, Scorpius, there was a man.

"He was a good-looking man, vain, rich, and very cruel. He had a wife, yes – she was far more compassionate than him, but haughty all the same. However, she was loving to their only son – contrarily to _him_. The man, he only wanted power. He worked for an evil master who made him do evil deeds – and he did it, because he _adored _power, and because he was twisted on the inside.

"Soon after the boy turned sixteen, war came. Mind you, Scorpius, there had been one a few years back; but, Merlin, this one was different. For example, last time round, the boy had been a baby. This time, the master was back, and recruiting again; he sent the man, the boy's father, on a mission, and when he failed, the master was angered."

Scorpius, who was listening intently, yawned and snuggled a bit closer to his mother. Smiling, Astoria began to stroke his hair while she continued her story.

"So, to get his revenge, the master called up the son. He called him up, and enrolled him into his ranks. Now, the son, see, he'd been raised to be in this life – and so, at first, he was proud to take his father's place.

"However, the master had given him a mission. Succeed or die, he'd told him. The boy was under much pressure, Scorpius, you have to understand. His mission was horrible: in order to stay alive, he had to kill someone."

Scorpius' eyes widened. "That's _bad_!" he exclaimed, with the bold confidence of a five-year-old boy. "What happens next, Mother?"

A smile tugged at the corners of Astoria's mouth. "You'll see, darling."

"You can imagine how distraught – how panicked – the boy became. After all, during the year, he had discovered that he, unlike his father, could not kill. And so it was failure after failure, and the master – well, he was not happy, not at all.

"The end of the year was nearing, and finally, finally, the man he was supposed to kill was killed, but by someone else. Of course, the master was happy that the man the boy was supposed to kill was gone, but he still held the boy's failure over his head. And during the summer, when the boy's father broke out of Az – prison, the master had nothing but spite.

"So he treated the boy and his family like shi – like dirt, I mean, Scorpius. He was terrible to them and evil and made the boy watch murder and murder. It scared him, my little scorpion. But he couldn't do anything, because or else they'd all _die_."

Scorpius yawned again and began sucking on his thumb. Gently removing it from her son's mouth, the corners of Astoria's mouth quirked up and she continued, "So he stayed. He stayed and tried to do what was right in spite of the consequences. He really tried, Scorpius, he really did. And then, at the end of that year, something happened.

"There was war at the boy's school. So his master's men invaded the school and there was an ever so horrid battle, Scorpius. Ever so horrible. Buildings burning, spells flying in every direction. It was a terrible time, I say.

"So the boy, right, he did what he could. And he suffered. He watched his friend die, one of his very best friends. He was simply devastated. Soon, though, the battle was over. It was over and the other side had won and the boy and his father were sent to prison for working for the Dark – for their bad master, Scorpius."

Astoria's son stretched and rubbed at his eyes. "Are you quite finished yet, Mother?" Scorpius asked, quite bluntly in his mother's opinion. But, of course, she didn't fault him for that. She couldn't, because she was his mother and he was the only thing that was good about her in this world and that was how things worked.

Instead, she squeezed his hand and said, "Patience, Scorpius. It's almost finished. You _do_ want to hear about the Beast, do you?"

"Oh, yes, do I ever, Mother."

"Good, good," she murmured. "Er..." She looked outside at the full moon and got a sudden inspiration. "But a few months later, they were released. The father got sent back to Az – jail for three years, the boy went off free. Only, he wasn't a boy anymore; he was a man. So he went off into the world and gallivanted over to Greece with a fanciful bit – fanciful girl at his school. They had a daughter; the fanciful c – girl left.

"The b – man came back, Scorpius. And he was lonely, ever so lonely, and one day he went to a pub. And then, he met m – he met a lovely girl. Lovelier than any other girl, especially the fanciful girl he was with before. Soon, my little scorpion, they fell in love. And they married.

"That's the happily ever after for them, my son, but let's get back to the father, shall we? After prison, he was a wreck, plain and simple. He came back home to the rich manor where he and his family lived and found that he simply couldn't find anything to do with himself anymore.

"So he drank. And drank. And one day when he was out drinking, he tottered over to the Min – to a government organisation. He got attacked there. By a vile creature, a werewolf. And he was marked, scarred; there, he became a Beast. If he wasn't one before."

Astoria pointed to the moon, and watched her son yawn and squint his eyes at the round splendour. "And every full moon, Scorpius, he comes out. He comes out and scares little children and mourns the things he lost." Kissing both his cheeks and gently tapping his nose, Astoria smiled and made him lie back down. Tucking him in, she whispered, "And that's why you have to stay inside on a full moon, Scorpius. That's why you have to stay safe. Now, goodnight, my son."

Scorpius blinked his eyes and yawned several times, great jaw-cracking yawns. And then he turned his head towards the window, towards the illuminated full moon, and murmured sleepily, "I've gotta to stay safe on a full moon, Mother. Got that."

* * *

><p><strong>Next up: I lied, Scorpius isn't going to meet someone in the kitchens just yet. Next up is a filler chapter, of sorts. <strong>

**After that: The meeting in the kitchens. If I don't change my mind again :/ **

**So, how does everyone like Astoria and Scorpius? Their relationship? The insight into Astoria's mind? Please read and review, anyways, especially if you favourited/alerted! :D **

**BTW: You can read more of my works about the Malfoys in _Four Lives: Four Heirs_, in _memorial day_, and in _Legacy_ :D **


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